


Here, there and everywhere

by consultinggalpals (sansa_undergrind)



Series: the universal language of mankind [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Couch Cuddles, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Fluff, Inspired by Music, M/M, References to the Beatles, Sherlock's Hair, The Beatles - Freeform, but it fits because reasons, i can't believe that's a tag, music fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2015-06-07
Packaged: 2018-04-03 08:35:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4094221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sansa_undergrind/pseuds/consultinggalpals
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John had always been a big fan of music in general and, unoriginally enough, of the Beatles in particular.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here, there and everywhere

**Author's Note:**

> This is pure domestic fluff. I can feel the cavities coming as I type.
> 
> Inspired by [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8THouU576WY) by The Beatles, which is part of the album _Revolver_ and is probably my favourite love song of all times. I took the liberty of changing the pronouns from she/her to he/his in the lyrics, just because it fit better. The sentiment is unchanged.

John had always been a big fan of music in general and, unoriginally enough, of the Beatles in particular. When he was deployed, one of the things he most dearly missed was his collection of records, which he begrudgingly had to leave in Harry’s care. To make him feel better, she had sent him a care package with a Discman and a dozen assorted CDs, amongst which figured not only the Fab Four, but also some singles by the Smiths and the Animals. John had been ecstatic, but his heart had sunk just a little when he realised that his favourite album was not part of the batch.

Still, he felt his grasp on sanity amidst the most frenzying moments of emergency surgery was stronger if somewhere in the camp hospital _Around the World_ or _Glass Onion_ were playing.

Words could not fully describe the rage John was in when, finally home from Afghanistan, he found Harry in a drunken stupor, slurring about the immediate need of cash that had forced her to sell the better part of his records. He packed what was left and resolved to look for a place to stay on his own, refusing further aid from his sister.

His life took a turn for the better (or more exciting, at least) when it was assaulted by a whirlwind of cheekbones and dark coat, dragging the army doctor into a world of crime scenes, bullet holes in the wallpaper and criminal masterminds. Their relationship evolved slowly but steadily, committed by now to each other in more ways than they could possibly describe. Their lives were inextricably intertwined and they came to the mutual conclusion that the next step, that of romantic involvement, was as natural as catching the next breath of air.

In truth, the only thing that had changed was their sleeping arrangement, and since Sherlock did very little of that in normal circumstances, it was easy enough for John to mould his more human sleeping pattern around his partner’s. John would slip under the rich Egyptian cotton sheets in Sherlock’s room, dozing off with trepidant expectations for that moment in the middle of the night when he would feel knobbly knees press into the back of his legs while a lean arm would swing around his middle, pressing his back against a flush chest. Furthermore, it gave John immense pleasure to wake up in the early hours of the morning with an armful of sleeping detective, whose normally sharp features he very much enjoyed covering in small delicate kisses.

All things considered, John was rather content with how his life had turned out, the only last nugget of dissatisfaction being how little he had a say when it came to matters of music.

Sherlock’s only interest in the subject was concomitant with whatever piece he found himself playing by ear on his violin at odd hours of the day and night. He had no CDs or vinyls at 221B, his shelves preferably giving way to books and the occasional piece of taxidermy. When John mentioned he was going to buy a record player for his old albums, Sherlock didn’t even raise his eyes from the experiment he was performing in the kitchen, simply raising his shoulders in a noncommittal shrug.

On this particular drizzly day, John and Sherlock were in Camden Town, doing their best to tail a murder suspect amongst the crowded stalls of the Stables. John’s eyes were wandering, when they noticed a particularly interesting stand selling second-hand music records. He stopped mid-stride and, careful to keep Sherlock inside of his field of view, he started rummaging amongst the 60s section. It did not take him long to locate precisely the album he had missed for so many years. He handed a fiver to the man with the preposterous mustache behind the stall and jogged after the consulting detective, who in pure Sherlockian fashion, had not even noticed John’s absence.

When they finally got back to the flat, Sherlock was in a full strop due to their losing the suspect amongst the bigger crowd around the Lock markets. He barely removed his coat and scarf, before tumbling on the sofa and curling in a foetal position with his back to the room.

John rolled his eyes at the sight, then continued upstairs to retrieve the phonograph. He had bought it a few months back but Sherlock had described it a ‘useless waste of space’ and had it relegated to John’s old room.

When he entered the sitting room, Sherlock was still on the sofa, but had moved to his back and was now looking at John from upside down.

“I am hardly in the mood for your antiques, John.”

“Shush, you,” John chided good-naturedly. “I want you to listen to this song. You don’t have to do anything but lie there with your ears open.”

Sherlock just huffed in response.

John strode across the room, placing the phonograph on the cluttered desk, plugging it in and carefully positioning the vinyl he had bought earlier on the plate. He put the needle on the fifth track and stood back.

_To lead a better life I need my love to be here..._

Slowly he shrugged out of his coat, hanging it on one of the chairs, before walking back to the sofa. Sherlock’s eyes never left him.

_Here, making each day of the year_  
_Changing my life with the wave of his hand_  
_Nobody can deny that there's something there_

He nudged at Sherlock’s shoulder, making him lift his head just enough so that John could sit down. With Sherlock’s head now in his lap, John proceeded to slowly run his fingers through his curls.

 _There, running my hands through his hair_  
_Both of us thinking how good it can be_  
_Someone is speaking but he doesn't know they're there_

John’s fingers were moving slowly, gently caressing every inch of Sherlock’s scalp with infinite care. Sherlock’s eyes fluttered close, as John’s fingers started moving rhythmically up and down his skull.

 _I want him everywhere and if he’s beside me_  
_I know I need never care_  
_But to love him is to need him everywhere_  
_Knowing that love is to share_

_Each one believing that love never dies  
Watching his eyes and hoping I'm always there_

John’s right hand had moved downwards, leaving the forest of messy curls on Sherlock’s head for his nape and the pale stretch of his neck. His fingers ghosted above Sherlock’s Adam’s apple, before tracing his jawline with his knuckles, up, up, until they were caressing the shell of an ear.

_I want him everywhere and if he’s beside me_  
_I know I need never care_  
_But to love him is to need him everywhere_  
_Knowing that love is to share_

_Each one believing that love never dies  
Watching his eyes and hoping I'm always there_

Gently, John bent forward, brushing his lips to Sherlock’s temple, then the tip of his nose, a cheekbone, before lingering on the indent of his upper lip. One hand was still cradling his head, fingers carding lazily through his hair, while the other had come to rest against Sherlock’s cheek, cupping it so delicately one might have thought it made of porcelain.

_I will be there and everywhere  
Here, there and everywhere_

When the last notes of the song drifted and died, Sherlock opened his eyes again.

“You okay?” John’s voice was croaky, a barely audible whisper in the sudden silence of the room.

Sherlock reached up, cupping the right side of John’s face with one lithe hand and stroking his thumb idly across his cheekbone. He found that something had lodged in his throat, making it absolutely impossible for him to give voice to the multitude of thoughts that were crowding the forefront of his mind palace, all of which concerning John and the indescribable amount of love he felt for this man.

Sherlock nodded, before pulling John down by the nape to bring their lips together. They kissed leisurely, slowly and intently, their mouths barely parted as their tongues caressed each other in lazy circles.

They broke apart with a start when the first strumming notes from _Yellow Submarine_ pervaded the room.

“A bit jarring, isn’t it?” John chuckled, looking down at Sherlock’ wide alarmed eyes.

“That’s an understatement,” he muttered. Swiftly he sat up, shifting John’s legs on the sofa with them, so that he could rest his back against John’s front. “But I am not getting up to turn it off.”

John murmured his approval into Sherlock’s curls, while his hands moved of their own accord, stroking lightly along the length of Sherlock’s arms before resting on his chest, crossed at the wrist.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr @ [consultinggalpals](http://consultinggalpals.tumblr.com)


End file.
